


Touch

by Chromi



Series: Arrhythmia [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flirting, Kinda, M/M, MarcoAce Week 2019, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 18:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: 'Marco could see the reasoning behind Ace’s choice, and he certainly had no problems with helping, but the most prominent thought in his mind that took over, that swallowed his usual good doctorly nature, was a chant oftouching Ace touching Ace touching Ace.'Bonus scene forArrhythmiathat takes place during the end of chapter 5.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> For MarcoAce Week 2019 Day 2 for the prompt "touch".

Marco looked up at the sound of a soft knock to his office door followed by a hesitant, “Marco?”

The cardiologist minimized the email from one of the ward doctors that he had been reading - _Dr. White, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I need advise on the right dosage of Amlodipine for the above patient - _and called, “yeah?”

Marco’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Ace slipping through the doorway, looking flushed and clutching a sheet of paper. “Hi,” Ace said a little breathlessly, tucking his hair behind an ear and flashing Marco the most radiant smile, “are you busy? I was wondering if you could help me with a couple of things.”

Marco leaned back in his chair with a creak, returning Ace’s smile. “Not busy, no,” he said, “just saving the world from nervous first year juniors.”

“Oh,” Ace suddenly looked concerned, clearly unsure if Marco really was free or not, “I can ask someone else if you’re needed, don’t worry.”

Marco smiled gently; Ace’s urge to never interrupt was always startlingly endearing. “The registrar is on the ward - he’ll be able to help them. They know this, but whenever they panic they email the first attending they can think of.” Marco held out his hand for the paper Ace clutched. “Is this your problem? What do you need?”

“Yeah,” the breathlessness was back in Ace’s voice as he drew up the spare chair in the office to sit beside Marco, far too close and yet not close enough. “Can you read Dr. Thatch’s writing? ‘Cause I can’t. It’s just a load of squiggles and I have no idea what he wants to do with this patient.”

Marco chuckled as he took the paper, and at a glance at Thatch’s hideous scrawl of an instruction he knew what the other cardiologist was asking for - after being his best friend for the last 25 years, Marco was well practised in the visual art of Thatch’s handwriting.

“He’s referring the patient back to neurology and discharging from cardio,” Marco said, watching as Ace pulled a little red notebook from his pocket to scribble this down, “because neurology sent them to _us _for suspected vasovagal syncope instead of epilepsy, which was the referring query from their community doctor. This happens a lot,” Marco added at Ace’s look of surprise, “oh yeah, neurology get loads of queried epileptic attacks that turn out to be syncope from bradycardia, so they get sent to us instead. And vice versa, too; a couple of weeks ago I had a patient go into seizure when I was reviewing them for episodes of syncope. The referring primary care doctors don’t really seem to have a clue what they’re looking at and flip a coin between neuro and cardio.”

“That’s wild,” Ace commented, pen flying across the paper. “Will neurology take the patient back?”

“They have to,” Marco said, “we’ve done our bit and confirmed it’s nothing to do with us, so the referring neurologist has to decide what to do next. If they don’t know, the patient goes back to their personal doctor. Hospital politics,” Marco smiled at Ace’s bemusement, “no one wants to take on what isn’t strictly theirs.”

“Huh,” was all Ace offered.

“Why?” Marco leaned in a little, his knee brushing up against Ace’s completely by accident, honestly, “thinking of ditching the admin side of things and becoming a doctor instead? Wanna learn the inside tricks?”

Ace snorted a laugh, also leaning a little closer, making Marco’s heart flutter excitedly. Ace had no right to be this _cute_, dammit, his reasons for coming to ask Marco about another doctor’s handwriting glaringly obvious. The best person to ask would have been Thatch himself, after all, and Marco knew that his friend was in his office opposite right now, probably ignoring his vast piles of paperwork that hid his keyboard from view while he enjoyed an afternoon snack and gossip with his secretary.

“I don’t have the brains to study medicine at your level,” Ace said somewhat dismissively, “but I wouldn’t say no to going into physiotherapy. That’d be fun.”

Marco made a mental note to remember this snippet of information on Ace, figuring it could prove to come in handy one day further down the line. Quite when or why, though, remained a mystery for now.

“Well, that was an easy problem to solve,” Marco said with a grin, and Ace’s cheeks colored ever so slightly, clearly aware he’d been figured out. “You said you needed help with a couple of things,” Marco prompted, and to his surprise Ace dropped his gaze, looking embarrassed.

“The other thing I need help with is personal,” Ace said quietly, not looking at Marco’s concerned face, “and you’re not allowed to laugh.”

Marco frowned. “I’d never laugh at anything you’re having trouble with.”

“You’re not allowed to think it’s disgusting, either.” Ah, Marco had an idea what this was about. “And you need to help me with this as Dr. White, not as Marco my…” Ace trailed off, swallowing hard, “my…”

“Co-worker? Friend?” Marco offered. Ace just sighed through his nose, and even Marco had to agree that the label _friend _wasn’t good enough for where he hoped they would someday end up. But it would have to do for now. “I can do that.”

Ace shifted uncomfortably in his seat before he spoke again. “It’s the psoriasis,” he said after a pause, “I can’t reach the patches on my back properly, so I was hoping…” He pulled from his pocket the tube of steroid cream that Marco had prescribed for him only that weekend, and Ace handed it to him with a frown. “I was gonna ask my friend Deuce to help me,” Ace said quickly, almost defensively, like he didn’t want Marco to think that he _wanted _him to see the patches of rough, itchy skin caused by acute stress, “but I don’t want more people seeing it than necessary, and since you’ve already seen it, I thought you’d be the best option.”

Marco could see the reasoning behind Ace’s choice, and he certainly had no problems with helping, but the most prominent thought in his mind that took over, that swallowed his usual good doctorly nature, was a chant of _touching Ace touching Ace touching Ace. _Since when had he been so unprofessional? Marco could have laughed at himself. Ace wasn’t his patient, but he needed to behave like he was for a couple of minutes.

“Makes sense,” Marco said, holding out his hand for the cream, “and don’t worry about it. As I said before, there’s nothing gross about psoriasis. It’s just your immune system acting up in response to stress.”

“Doesn’t stop it from looking disgusting,” Ace muttered, handing over the tube. “Every time I look at myself in the mirror I feel diseased.”

Marco couldn’t say he blamed Ace, even if he didn’t agree with him. As Ace stood and turned away from him, Marco ran a hand through his hair, suddenly nervous and on edge. It was just Ace’s _back_, for goodness’ sake, a back like any other, like his own, like any patient he could possibly recall. This was definitely not something to get excited about; he was helping his friend and that was it.

But when Ace’s white shirt slipped off his broad shoulders and came to rest midway down his back, caught in the angle of his elbows, Marco’s mouth went completely dry. Ace was _muscular_, as Marco had already known him to be from the time he had diagnosed the skin condition, but this was something else. Every muscle in his back was thrown into sharp relief by the lighting overhead, the contours rippling when Ace looked over his shoulder back at Marco _far _more seductively than he reasonably should have. It was not unlike a scene in a film that lead directly to the two leading characters making passionate love on the floor, tangled and sweaty…

Only this was Marco’s office in the middle of the cardiology admin department, and this was not the lead up to a sweaty roll-around. Ace was asking for his _help_, and Marco was just sat leering at him like some kind of sex-starved lunatic.

“You sure do like the gym,” was the unintelligent observation that came out of Marco’s mouth as he stood, taking a step closer to Ace.

Ace’s eyes were dark while he watched Marco over his left shoulder, like he was caught between enjoying Marco’s gaze resting heavy on him while also wishing he would look away. “Like I said before, it’s just about my only hobby.”

He was _stunning_ and effortlessly beautiful, and Marco had to physically shake his head to try and draw his focus back to what he was supposed to be doing. Marco squeezed a little of the cream onto his fingers and took a breath, studying Ace’s back. There were hardly any patches of the dry, red skin visible, and far less than there had been on Ace’s abdomen when Marco had last seen it.

“Have you had a chance to check your back at all?” Marco asked, opting to go clinical lest he say something stupid and thoughtless such as _god fuck you’re gorgeous_. “You have hardly any inflammation from what I can see.”

And then Ace dropped the shirt completely, revealing his lower back as he brought the shirt round to his front, sliding it from his right arm. Marco could have wept from how impeccably sculpted Ace was right down to where his belt secured his pants around his hips.

“How about now?” Ace asked, and Marco could see his colored cheek peeking over his shoulder, his black lashes fluttering against freckled cheeks. No, there was no doubt that Ace wasn’t aware of how this had to be affecting Marco, and when Ace angled his hips to curve his spine a little more, Marco was certain that Ace was, in fact, encouraging his reaction as much as possible.

“Nope,” Marco said, swallowing, “still very little, even down by your—” _don’t say ass, Marco, whatever you do,_ “—your, uh, lumbar spine region. This isn’t unusual, mind you; for some reason the back is usually less affected than the front in people who develop stress-related psoriasis.” If memory served him correctly, that was.

Ace’s head dipped into a nod, but he didn’t say anything. At least, not until it became apparent that Marco wasn’t going to do much more than watch the way Ace’s ribcage expanded and contracted ever so slightly as he breathed. Ace looked back at him again and asked in a low voice, “are you going to touch me or not?”

“Yes, sorry,” Marco almost stumbled over his words, immediately bringing his fingers to the largest of red patches directly over Ace’s spine. “This might be a bit cold.”

Ace’s skin was _hot _on contact, jumping under the cool cream that was rubbed into it. Ace stiffened at Marco’s touch but slowly relaxed as he worked, the tension dropping out of his shoulders. Yes, Ace was physically hot and felt _incredible_, Marco noticed all at once, fingers sliding over the firm trapezius muscle under Ace’s skin.

Marco worked in silence, his mind perfectly blank to anything he could say that would be in any way appropriate. The psoriasis was indeed nothing to find repulsive, simply being nothing more than dry, red skin decorated with broken blood vessels under the surface from repeated scratching with blunt nails. It was upsetting to think that Ace had been - and most likely continued to be - in such a state of anxiety and worry about Rouge’s terminal diagnosis that his own body had turned to attacking itself as a response.

“The steroid cream helps reduce the inflammation,” Marco said softly, fingers gliding over the patch furthest down Ace’s back towards his hips, “but it isn’t going to cure the condition completely. They’ll keep coming back for as long as you remain at a high level of stress, Ace. I’ve told you that, right?”

Again, Ace nodded in silence. It was an easy ask for a big, unsolvable problem, they both knew, and wasn’t something that Ace would be able to fix just because he wanted to.

He wasn’t at all surprised that Ace didn’t seem to want to talk during this, and Marco couldn’t help but feel guilty for ogling his co-worker so unashamedly when Ace was clearly struggling right now. But when Marco finished up on the last patch, he was met with something that made his heart almost skip a beat entirely.

“I think you missed a spot,” Ace murmured as the cap was popped back on.

Marco checked his back carefully, but every patch was shiny with the cream rubbed into it. “No, I got them all,” he said slowly, wondering how Ace could even tell without looking, “don’t worry, I haven’t missed any.”

“Check again,” was Ace’s reply, and before Marco could respond, he added in a small voice, “do it again. Please.”

Marco blinked at Ace’s back, stunned, watching the way the younger man’s blush crept steadily down the back of his neck now, it was so prominent. Ace wanted to be touched, and Marco was about to lose his mind. His mind which had gone blissfully blank.

So Marco did as he was asked, running his fingers along Ace’s spine and eliciting a shiver from him at the contact. Ah, Marco himself was getting warm, his heart slamming into his ribs with such force it might pop right out of him. He had no right to be getting his hopes up, but how could he _not _from a line such as that? Ace knew precisely what his words had done to him, right?

Ace groaned when Marco’s other hand came into play, the two working in tandem to stroke lazy patterns along Ace’s shoulder blades, his spine, his waist. His head dropped forwards with a sigh as Marco didn’t stop, mapping the contours of every muscle, learning the ridges of the spinal vertebrae, following the curves of his ribs. Ace felt amazing, and Marco simply did not know what to do beyond stroking along his back.

Ace sighed, “that feels nice.”

And perhaps that was all that Ace wanted from him right now.

But before Marco could respond, his computer behind them pinged with an email notification sound and Ace jumped violently.

“Sorry, sorry,” Marco apologised, hastily tearing himself away from where he really wanted to keep his hands for the rest of the damn day. He silenced the continuous reminder and closed the tab, irritated. No, he didn’t care that he needed to check he had everything ready for the medical student who was going to sit in his clinic the next morning, and he was damn well annoyed that he had even thought it necessary to set a reminder for himself to remember at all. He _never _remembered when he had a med student due with him, always finding out on the day and embarrassing himself by calling them by the wrong name for the entire clinic.

But all of that was wiped clean from his thoughts as he felt Ace against him, leaning over his shoulder to look for the source of that noise. “Everything okay?” Ace asked, innocent as you like, with his shirt still categorically not on his body.

“Yes,” Marco said, doing his absolute best not to nudge at Ace’s chest with his arm, “fine, just something for tomorrow, I’m sorry it—”

Ace gasped dramatically and moved away at once, hurriedly pulling his shirt back on and beginning to button it up again.

“I’m late,” Ace practically moaned when he caught sight of Marco’s searching, anxious expression, “I’m so, _so _late! I told Mom I was leaving at 4, and it’s half past now! _Shit_, sorry, I’ve gotta—” Ace grabbed at the door handle but hesitated before pulling it open, looking back at Marco apologetically. “Thanks for your help,” he said quickly, “sorry to run off like this. And, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Marco said a little vaguely, raising his hand in farewell, “take care of yourself.”

And Ace was gone, the door to the cardiology department banging open in his haste as he hurried down the corridor.

Leaving Marco quite alone to over-think every second of their encounter until Ace called him an hour later, trying his damn hardest not to cry down the phone.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss writing Arrhythmia. I've started on chapter 7 now, though, and will give it my full attention once MarcoAce week is over ♥
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://aishitekuretearigatou.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi!
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know if I'm doing something right, and I always love your feedback!


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